Bound by Obligation
by Reiki-Piratical
Summary: Garp gives Smoker a new mission: to reform his troublemaker of a grandson, Ace. Unfortunately for Smoker, this means the brat will be living on his turf. When Ace comes out of his shower in nothing but a skimpy towel, Smoker realizes Ace is going to be a real problem. So, how does he deal with him?
1. Playing Ploys

**...**

* * *

**Bound by Obligation**

_1: Playing Ploys_

* * *

"You know why I'm doing this, Smoker?"

"Because you're an asshole."

Officer Smoker, man in question, narrowly dodged a punch aimed at his head.

"No! I'm doing this to teach you skills in responsibility, you smokey bastard!"

"No, you're just trying to get rid of one of your long-standing problems!" Smoker argued, running a hand through his greying hair that was rapidly becoming white. He was not as old as his hair made him out to be, yet not young enough to be naïve about the task his boss was trying to lay out for him. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to!"

"I can let you have two of my problems, if you'd like."

"Look, I won't let the officers out of my sight again, and they won't get into any more shit, just let me–"

"I'll swing by your place and drop him off later today. I'm sure he's going to be _thrilled_. Remember, I expect you'll make sure he gets to school, and don't let him goof off. At all. You're training a future officer. Just do what you do with the other trainees."

"I hate you, Garp."

-oOo-

Smoker knew it was going to be bad when he looked out his window to see Garp drive up in his half-ton truck and smash into the tree that was innocently trying to grow on his lawn. He watched his boss get out, go over to the passenger side, throw the door open, and forcibly evict a young male from the vehicle. Said male was marched up to Smoker's front porch by a none-too-gentle hand on the back of his neck.

The doorbell sounded. Time to face the fire.

He almost made it to the door before it was kicked in. _Almost_.

"Damn it, Garp! Fix that!"

Garp shoved the young man over the rubble. The kid, barely eighteen, appeared unquestionably demonic with those dark eyes brewing flames. In fact, it wouldn't be a stretch to call those eyes hellholes. He'd never seen a darker natural shade than that, and he took his morning coffee _black_.

Garp just ploughed ahead with things, as was the norm with him. "This is my grandson, Ace. I've arrested him twice already, and Akainu's nabbed him five times for a variety of things including arson, carjacking, underground fighting, and break-and-raid-refrigerators. Straighten him out. He knows that if this _placement _doesn't work, I'm locking him up in jail the next time he steps out of line."

"Take him home, right now. I just ate dinner and I was looking forward to a _peaceful, child-free _evening."

Garp guffawed loudly, tears springing to the corners of his eyes and hanging on to his wrinkles. "He _is _home! Don't worry; I'll still pay his food bill."

"That doesn't make this any more right!"

"I'm teaching you a lesson in responsibility! Don't question my motives! I'll come and visit sometimes… _maybe_. I actually might be busy next week…"

"I'm not good with children!"

But Garp pushed the kid forward, who kicked off his sneakers with a defiant look at Smoker, before going back outside to retrieve a duffel bag for his grandson. Then he fixed the door by slamming it back onto its hinges and got the hell out of there, completely ruining Smoker's lawn.

The skid marks left behind by Garp's truck were probably the least he had to worry about.

Smoker looked at Ace, who was just a half a head shorter than he was. Slowly, a smile grew on the young man's face at the discomfort that the situation entailed.

"I'm Portgas D. Ace," he said politely, formally introducing himself.

"Smoker."

"Is that all?" Ace asked. "Don't you have a first name?"

"We're not on a first name basis, brat," Smoker growled. "You're here because I'm supposed to reform you. And I got chosen to be your mentor because I fucked up an assignment."

"Wow, we'd make quite the team. Who chose to put us together?"

"Never mind."

Ace shrugged with that tiny smile that irked Smoker for unknown reasons and pushed past him, bag hefted over his shoulder. As Ace went deeper into the home his nose crinkled and his smile drooped.

"It smells like there was a fire in here."

"I'm a smoker."

Ace snorted at the connections that could be made. "Fitting. I'm going to get either lung cancer or carbon monoxide poisoning staying with you."

"I thought you were an arsonist?"

"Only when I get caught."

Smoker shook his head in disgust and closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them he could see Ace was making his way up the stairs. "Hold it, where the hell do you think you're going?"

"To find a bedroom to drop my stuff off in."

Panic seized Smoker's chest. "There's only one bedroom in this house. You're on the couch."

"I have difficulty sleeping as it is. Besides, I _call_ the bed."

"You can't _call _something in _my _house! Get your ass down here!"

But Ace had already disappeared by the time Smoker made it to the base of the stairs. From the room above he hollered down, "I'm going to bed early! I was up all night partying and I'm fucking tired!"

"Watch your goddamn language, brat!"

"Good fucking night!" Ace cried. Smoker could hear the amusement in the boy's tone, and it made his stomach upset. He just knew he had his work cut out for him.

-oOo-

After Smoker lost the screaming battle he retired to his living room with a cigar. Sitting down on the couch and thinking about his predicament, he found one cigar was not enough to calm his sensitive nerves down. He squeezed a second one between his lips.

Huffing away and cursing under his breath, Smoker thought about the gargantuan absurdity that was Portgas D. Ace. So far the boy was not making a good impression on him. The saddest thing was that he knew beating the boy senseless would do nothing. He would bet Garp had already tried that tactic. Multiple times. Likely all throughout the boy's childhood.

After two hours it became clear that Ace was not going to come sulking downstairs, whining to go home. A sudden thought struck Smoker: what if he had escaped through the bedroom window? What if he had jumped out and broken his leg? Or all of his ribs? What if he had gotten up, disoriented, and accidently stepped out in front of a moving vehicle?

Well, good riddance to that.

Still, he felt obligated to get up and check on the brat, if only to forcefully remove his body from his bed, if sleeping were really his intention. He had nothing of serious personal value in his bedroom, like photographs that should remain unseen, nor did he have a stash of pornographic magazines that needed safeguarding. Still, that was his bloody bedroom that brat had intruded into.

He stomped his way upstairs, where there was a study, a bathroom, and his bedroom, and threw open the door to the last. He opened his mouth to bellow and exert his full frustration, but found the bedside lamp on and a shirtless teenager sprawled out on the bed, clearly unconscious.

Feeling slightly intrusive himself, and not knowing what to make of the lack of clothing since he now noticed that the boy was not wearing pants under the blanket his lower half was mostly covered by, Smoker stalled in his advance. Swallowing and finding his mouth very dry, which he immediately attributed to the cigars, he crept up to the bedside and peered down.

The lamp highlighted the planes of his young charge's stomach, all the peaks and valleys and those relaxed mocha nipples. He had appeared broad shouldered, but the shirt he came in was loose to the point of being two sizes too big, and Smoker had no idea that the brat was so finely muscled, especially for his age. The underground fight scene that Garp had mentioned must have been where he really excelled. His arms especially were bulging with muscle, and Smoker could bet that the kid could punch like a boxer.

Without really realizing it, Smoker's gaze had become fixed on the boy, staring at him as he breathed deeply and regularly. Upon recognizing this uncanny interest, he turned his eyes away and focused on something else. Anything else. His eyes landed on something out of place in his bedroom. Normally, he was clean and orderly when it came to his home (though his desk at the office was on the opposite end of the spectrum) and there usually wasn't anything lying around without a use.

He picked up the object, found it to be a thick pad of paper, and flipped it open. Ah, so it was a sketchbook. He leaned down under the lamp to see what it was that the kid did with a freaking pad of paper. He expected to find graffiti writing or drafts for gang emblems. Maybe even bloody fist fighting anime characters.

His eyes widened and he dropped it on the floor, picked it up again, and commenced staring with eyes bugging out of his skull.

He had a Michelangelo under his roof and that was, indeed, a realistic penis on the first page.

He moved the sketchbook around under the light to study the pencil drawing from all angles, and confirmed that whomever that appendage belonged to was well endowed.

Gingerly, afraid to rip the paper, Smoker turned to the next page and found manly abdominal muscles. He bit his lip as the thought that maybe the kid was into other guys passed though his mind. He shook it off and flipped the page. A perfectly formed woman lounged on a sofa, staring at the viewer with a petulant gaze. He flipped to find a picture of a tree with three small children playing in a sandbox under it. Next was the face of a grinning boy with jet-black hair and a scar beneath one eye. After that, a bouquet of flowers on a grave.

Smoker continued flipping, deciding on the plain fact that the eighteen-year-old troublemaker drew everything and anything. He did notice one trend, however, by the time he reached the last drawing near the back of the pad; that the drawings grew progressively darker, not just in shade but also in subject matter. The last drawing Ace did was of a naked body, a woman, holding a bunch of dead flowers to her chest. The pure artistic skill made it easy to perceive that the woman was but a corpse.

With a haggard sigh, Smoker closed the book and placed it back on the bedside table, then stood up. He found he was deeply disturbed, and left Ace to his light snoring. He was almost out the bedroom door when he turned around with a grimace.

No. No, he would not let the brat turn him out of his own damn room.

He went back, hardened his gaze, and stooped with the intention of gathering the kid up in his arms and pitching him over the side of the bed. But as he touched the boy's chest, skin rippled and twitched, and the boy let out a soft moan as he flipped over onto his side so he was snug against the wall. Then he shuddered once more and unconsciously wiggled his toes. That was so cute Smoker almost puked a fucking rainbow all over his beige walls.

He needed another cigar to calm his nerves, but he was out and had to go to the store to pick some up tomorrow. Damn.

He refocused himself. It was a queen-sized bed, a four-poster lacking a canopy, and the boy had been almost in the middle. Now there was plenty of room for another body.

He didn't want to deal with the kid. He didn't want to wake him up and freaking _deal _with the inevitable bitching that came hardwired into the teenage brain. That was what Smoker told himself as he changed into a loose-fitting pair of sweatpants and crawled into bed beside the brat. He debated throwing on one of his muscle shirts that he wore to the gym, but Ace was more than half-naked and he usually slept without a scrap of clothing. Putting on a shirt was out of the question.

He settled down and focused on his breathing. At first, it wasn't so bad listening to Ace's even, deep breaths. Then he tuned in to the faint noises he was making: the moans, the grunts, and the slight nuances in his breathing pattern, little hitches that just commanded Smoker's attention.

It was a few hours before he drifted off, unwilling to get up and go to the couch, as that would be admitting defeat. It would have been a weakness, and he knew criminals, no matter how petty, picked up on any weakness that a law enforcement officer had in order to exploit it later.

-oOo-

Smoker woke to sunlight and an empty bed. He rose and cracked his back, sitting on the edge of his mattress. He didn't have to wonder for long where the kid had gone off to, because he appeared in the doorway within the minute in nothing but one of Smoker's white towels around his trim waist.

He watched as a drop of water dripped from Ace's sopping wet hair to the floor.

"You gonna stop staring any time soon, pervert?"

Smoker coloured, more from anger than anything. "You're soaking wet and getting water all over my hardwood floor."

"Oh, my bad. Don't want you to slip and break your old man back."

Smoker was about ready to punch the brat through a wall, but he could hardly bring himself to beat up a man in nothing but a towel. "Get your goddamn clothes on. I'm making fucking coffee."

"And hopefully breakfast," Ace added, stepping aside. As Smoker passed, Ace whispered, "Make me some 'fucking' coffee, too. It sounds stimulating."

Smoker replied that he would drink it all if Ace took too long.

He went downstairs and made the coffee, set his cup aside to cool a bit, and wondered what to feed a teenage boy that would satisfy both an appetite and Garp's stupid hopes for his grandson's reform. He decided on a simple breakfast of eggs and toast. With a slight twist.

The boy came down into the kitchen, fully dressed this time, and immediately assaulted the coffee maker. Smoker feared he would break the poor inanimate object, but Ace was not so ignorant to appliances as he appeared in the first few seconds of fiddling with the pot. He poured out the rest into a mug, and then began rummaging around.

"Where the hell's your cream and sugar?"

Smoker froze with a spatula in hand. "My what?"

"Cream. Sugar. The two very essential ingredients to add into a cup of coffee." Smoker continued to stare, then began to snicker. Ace was mortified. "Oh my fucking – _you don't have either of those things in this house, do you_?"

"Stop freaking out," Smoker ordered. "There's cream at the very back of the fridge, probably expired, and the sugar is in that cupboard over there."

After Ace located them and spooned unbelievable amounts of both into his cup, Smoker watched with utter revulsion as he chugged the coffee in one go. Even though it was steaming hot. Certainly enough to burn his throat. To cause third degree burns all down his throat and in his stomach. He waited for tears or curses, but Ace simply washed out the cup and threw it on a drying rack.

Smoker nearly burnt the toast staring in wonder, had Ace not remarked, "I think your sense of smell sucks. Something's smoking. And it's not you for once."

When the food was on plates and placed on the table, Smoker moved to block Ace. It was time to commence Reform Plan A.

"Drop and give me twenty if you want to eat."

"Twenty what?"

"Pushups, brat."

Ace gaped at him. "You're going to make me _work _for my food?"

"Yeah. As your new reforming teacher guy, this is my job. Your idiotic grandfather told me to treat you like a regular police trainee, so I'm just following his orders." For once, he thought, enjoying a private laugh in his mind. "Now do as I say."

"You're a sadist!"

"Make that fifty," barked Smoker, his irritation rising. "Get to it before your eggs get cold."

Ace sputtered for a full five seconds longer, looking between Smoker and the alluring plate of food on the table. Then he dropped to the floor and did the fastest fifty Smoker had ever seen. Yet, not only were they quick push-ups, they were perfect in form too, which ticked him off slightly. He had been fully intending to force the kid into begging for his food until he'd done them right. Make him sweat a little.

There was, in fact, a tiny gleam of sweat on Ace's brow, but Smoker had a feeling it was from a fear of not being able to eat, not overexertion.

He was thoroughly vexed and reaching for cigars he didn't have.

Ace finished eating in record time and his eyes went to Smoker's plate, as Smoker was the sort of man to take his time with his food. When Ace's forehead clunked down on the table, Smoker wondered fleetingly if he was really such boring company as the boy implied with his little shenanigans.

He finished his meal at the same slow pace as before and then grunted a little to announce he was done. No response.

Furrowing his brow, he got up and slapped Ace on the shoulder. The result was an unconscious body on his black and white kitchen tiles.

He stared at Ace for a few seconds longer before trying to remember the number for emergency services. Only a certain angry face was taking over his mind and he couldn't fully concentrate.

Thoughts of Garp drowning him in a puddle, running him over with his truck, and even fracturing his skull with his fist had him breaking out in a cold sweat. He checked the boy's pulse, flipped him over so he was on his back, and placed his ear to the boy's lips in hopes of hearing breath coming out.

"Holy fuck, your hair smells like an ashtray."

Smoker rocked back on the balls of his feet and asked, "What the hell was that? Are you trying to give me high blood pressure or something?"

Ace got to his feet, using the wall nearby for support. "Oh, I only forgot to take my medication. Plus I had coffee. I'm not supposed to drink coffee. Nine times out of ten it triggers a narcoleptic attack. Studies have shown it's not so good for narco-brains, yeah?"

"You had a narco-_what_?"

"Please excuse me, I have to get high." He dropped his voice so he was muttering under his breath, "Which is funny because they've got me on anti-depressants."

Smoker grabbed the boy's shoulder before he could get very far. "There will be _no_ recreational drugs in this household!"

"Then it's a good thing I've got prescription meds for my narco-_what_."

Smoker was forced to let him go on that one.

-oOo-

Smoker let Ace do as he pleased on Saturday, since it was his first full day with him, and if he was anything like Garp, he really didn't want to push the wrong buttons so early on in the relationship.

He himself spent a few hours at the gym and then stocked up on supplies at the grocery store. The cashier gave him a concerned stare when he came up with nothing short of a crate of cigars. She had to check if she was authorized to sell that many in one shot.

When he got home he put everything away and cleaned up the kitchen, waiting for Ace to come out from wherever a grown eighteen-year-old boy liked to hide. Yet he did not appear and Smoker scoured the house for him, coming up with only a note left on the kitchen table.

_Smokey the Bear,_

_Even though I'm underage where we live, I went to go buy some booze with my buddies, Marco and Thatch. Might pick up some hot chicks, start a few equally hot fires, and find a drug dealer after that. I shall see you at dinner._

_Ace_

Smoker's hand quivered and he realized he was shaking with anger. He threw the note away before he could read it again and further irritate his dwindling patience, and double checked the safety on his gun, which he kept locked up while at home. Just to make sure he didn't reach for it and accidentally shoot Ace when he came through the door later.

Garp called him at around lunchtime. "How's he doing?"

_That's a damn good question_, Smoker thought.

"Is he reacting to your discipline? Eh, Smokey?"

Smoker cleared his throat, loud and obnoxious. "Oh, he's _reacting_ all right."

"Be harsh with him. Don't let him get away with any of his usual shit. If he does something _stupid_, tell him he's walking thin eggshells and shit – are those crackers? Sengoku, give me some of those–"

"Garp." Smoker rubbed his eyes, tired already. "I'm not going to listen to you argue with Sengoku."

"Sorry, sorry. What was I saying?"

"Ace walking on eggs."

"What? Oh. Yeah. If he does anymore questionable stuff, tell him I'm gonna throw him in the slammer. Akainu's pressing for it already, and I'm the only thing keeping him out right now. If you don't fix him, well, guess it just sucks for him. I'm just his grandfa– Sengoku! Give that back! That's my goddamn–"

Smoker hung up with a sigh and a sore eardrum.

The rest of the day was spent thinking up ways in which to punish the boy without compromising his position as a police officer. He settled on another membership to the gym he worked out at and a few 'restrictions.'

When Ace arrived, he greeted him with a surly, "Where the hell were you?"

"Didn't you get my note?"

"Oh, I got it all right. Are you drunk? High? Because if you're either of those things or if I see just _one _fucking arson on the news tonight, you're going to–"

"I'm going to what? What are you going to do to me? What could you _possibly_ do to me that hasn't already been done?"

Smoker stopped himself from punching the brat. He took a deep breath as Ace shrugged out of his jacket and sneakers.

"Smokey, aren't you going to check my breath and do all those police tests? Make me walk a straight line?"

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Smoker grabbed the back of Ace's head to keep him still and leaned into his face, putting his nose by parted lips. He inhaled hard, but he couldn't smell anything boozy and there certainly wasn't a distinctly different odour on the boy. Nothing but cigar smoke.

He shouldn't have smoked all those damn cigars.

"Do I pass your test?" Ace whispered, hot breath tickling Smoker's nose. The man drew back, shook his head with a grimace, and went into the living room wearing a faint blush on the tips of his ears. He expected Ace to high tail it up to _his_ bedroom, but the boy merely followed and sat on the couch next to him, feet drawn up so he sat cross-legged. "Well?"

"I don't know what to say. Either you're really good at hiding things or I'm just losing my touch."

Ace snorted. "You really don't believe in innocence, do you?" Smoker rolled his eyes at Ace's sad smile meant to mock him. "Well, I'll tell you where I _actually _was. I was at the art gallery, helping a friend move things around. Volunteering my time. Nothin' wrong with that. Then I hung out around the river downtown, outside of the Flamingo Café, and sketched some scenery on a napkin."

Smoker furrowed his brow. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Nope. Here's the napkin," Ace said, withdrawing a rumpled crème coloured cloth from a pocket. He balled it up and chucked it at Smoker's head. Smoker caught it before it hit his forehead and smoothed it out on his knee. A mini work of art in pen.

"This is ridiculous."

"I know. The napkin kept ripping on me."

Smoker continued to stare at the mini work of art, wondering if he should preserve it in the event of the kid becoming famous one day. "That's not what I meant, brat."

"Quit calling me that, old fart."

Renewed anger flushed Smoker's face. "Tomorrow morning, you're not leaving the house unless you have my permission. And tomorrow morning we're also hitting the gym. Garp called. He wants to put you in jail if you don't start listening to me. I didn't let him in on you skipping out of here in a skirt with a basket of sweets for granny."

"Fine," Ace huffed. "He just wants me to be an officer, just like him. Or join the army, or the goddamn _marines_. Like I will when I get enough money to get the hell out of here."

Curiosity got Smoker's devout attention. "What'll you do instead?"

"I dunno. Anything but what he wants me to do," Ace said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Hopefully you won't turn to a life of crime," Smoker grumbled.

"Then straighten me out," Ace challenged. Smoker examined his eyes, the dark twinkling in them that hinted at more but never revealed what was under that glassy surface. A grin spread across Ace's face and his freckles danced in a wave.

Smoker's eyes travelled and took in the rest of Ace's body until he felt himself grow hot. He had spent enough time staring at the boy's half-naked body that he had it memorized, and he could easily imagine Ace's chest under his shirt. "I'm starting dinner," he announced before fleeing.

Before he left he slapped Ace upside the head, partly because he deserved it, and partly because Smoker felt he needed to put some emotional distance between them before things got weird in his head.

* * *

**A.N.:** My objective for this story: good humour, good sex, and a distraction from the train wreck that is 'A Dance for Two'. I'm not abandoning anything, but I needed a pairing change before I go crazy with Kidd/Law and this story was kicking around with one chapter for a while, so I decided to post it. The 'New Story' button was just too tempting to pass up.

Updates won't be extremely quick, but they'll come. Eventually. This is only a short, five chapter story (I think! We'll see.)


	2. Perfect Portraiture

**...**

* * *

**Bound by Obligation**

_2: Perfect Portraiture_

* * *

That night, Ace decided he was going to claim the bed.

"Only right," he said decisively. "I'm the guest."

"Get the hell off my bed," Smoker returned. He was not impressed. Far from it, actually.

Ace – clad in nothing but black sweatpants and equally black socks with Smoker's blanket wrapped around his shoulders – licked his lips and assessed the situation. "Smokey, I'm sorry to report that you have about as much a chance of claiming this bed as I have of becoming a marine." The devilish grin spread across Ace's face. "There's no _fucking_ chance at all."

"Watch your language, or somebody's going to get hurt," Smoker growled. He began to climb onto the bed, intending to get a hold of Ace and toss him off the mattress. Better yet, down the stairs. Hell, he'd love tossing him on the front porch too, but he figured a half-naked boy running around on his front lawn wouldn't fly with his largely conservative neighbours.

"Hey, take it easy Smokey, wouldn't want to crack your back or nothin'. This house ain't equipped for wheelchairs."

"Shut your goddamn trap, Portgas. Or you'll be the one in the goddamn wheelchair."

Ace pretended to pout. His dramatics were not at all convincing and only served to irk Smoker more. "Off the bed."

"No."

The flippant dismissal spurred action from the police officer. Before he thought of the consequences, and Garp's face in particular, he launched a white rocket in the direction of Ace's head.

The cigar missed by a few feet and hit the wall, but still made Ace jump.

Recovering, the boy said mockingly, "I think you missed your target. How the hell did you pass the policing exams with that kind of a shot on ya?"

Whatever calm Smoker had left in him shattered. This time, he leapt forth with his full weight, grabbing Ace on the other side of the bed before he could even form a surprised expression.

Smoker pined him to the bed sheets, forcing out the tiniest of squeaks from Ace's throat. Ace began to sputter loudly; trying his best to hid the rather feminine sound under a slew of manly grunts.

"H-Hey, get the hell off!"

Smoker kept a firm hold on Ace's shoulders as he thrashed about, a worried smile rapidly falling on his boyish face. Ace's skin was warm and a flush spread throughout his body when he realized his weakness when on his back and unable to use his weight to his advantage.

Then Ace really began to fight back.

He threw a punch at Smoker's shoulder, which connected with a fleshy crack. Then another. And another. Smoker could feel bruises forming as he struggled to gain control. He caught one of Ace's flailing fists in a palm, but that was about the level of his success.

He was grinning. He didn't know why. Ace was laughing. That was strange, too.

Gradually the struggle ceased as Ace became seized from laughter, his fist no longer doing damage.

"What's so goddamn funny?" Smoker asked, his grin slipping just a tiny bit.

Ace didn't answer him right away, instead recovering from his sudden laugh attack. The hand that had previously been battering Smoker's shoulder now rested there. The heat on his tender and abused skin felt soothing. Then Ace's palm began to slip around, his arm wrapping around Smoker's neck. It wasn't a hug, not at all, more like just a comfortable place for Ace's limb to lounge, but nonetheless Smoker found he quite liked having Ace's warm, heavy arm there.

"You get so angry so damn easily," Ace finally said. "It's funny. I've never met someone with such a big stick up their ass."

Instantly, Smoker's face turned sour. "I'll put a big stick up your ass if you don't shut it."

"Ooh, what kind of stick?"

The 'stick' that immediately popped into Smoker's mind was not very appropriate for sharing. Ace seemed to know.

"You're such a pervert," he said flatly for the second time that day.

"I was _not _thinking _that_," Smoker argued, his face turning red. This kid made him so angry, and it was only a matter of time before he slugged him across the face.

"Oh, I'm _sure _you weren't." Ace waggled his eyebrows to accompany his bout of sarcasm. "Because this situation is too _innocent _for any man to think of _that_."

All of a sudden, Smoker was very conscious of his crotch pressing down on Ace's thighs, and the leverage it afforded him. He could do anything to this boy. Absolutely anything.

He had a mostly naked, barely legal teenager under him, was secure in his own home, and had a multitude of pillows to muffle any screaming. That was not to mention the handcuffs he kept downstairs…

He put distance between them and pushed the boy off the bed with the heels of his feet. In response to his sudden airborne state, Ace shrieked profanities. Hitting the floor momentarily silenced him, and then the words started up again.

"You're such a fucking asshole!" Ace yelled. "I think my back's bruised!"

"My shoulder's bruised," Smoker returned with equal fervor. He was not about to let the kid make a criminal out of him. The irony would be enough to kill his soul.

Smoker got up off the bed, victorious, and went over to his wardrobe to grab a change of clothes for the night. Just a pair of sweatpants would do.

"Get out, brat, I'm changing."

Not a word was spoken in reply, and Smoker turned to see that Ace had regained his position sprawled out on the bed. "Hey, I said get out."

"Just go ahead and change. We're both men," Ace stated flippantly. The brat didn't even have the courtesy to advert his eyes.

Smoker continued to stare, and a smile creeped onto Ace's face. "Unless, of course, you don't want me to see your tighty-whiteys…or maybe you're wearing pink panties. That would add colour to your otherwise monochromatic wardrobe."

"I am _not _wearing panties," Smoker said, gritting his teeth. He was beginning to regret leaving his pack of cigars downstairs.

"Prove it."

"I don't have to prove a damn thing to you, brat. Besides, you're probably the one wearing woman's underthings. I seems more your style."

The silly suggestion simply slipped out of Smoker's mouth, and he was in no way serious, yet Ace sprang from the bed with a heated look nonetheless. Then he dropped his pants to the floor and kicked them away furiously.

Putting his hands on his hips, Ace glowered and proudly displayed his black boxers with flames running up the seams. "See?"

"Fire Butt," Smoker stated, his eyes moving over the folds in the fabric. Ace must have taken offence to the new nickname, because he stooped to take off his black socks, tie them together in a tight ball, and then throw them at Smoker's head. The fast movement and utter absurdity of having socks thrown at his face did not allow Smoker to dodge the hit.

He grunted a little before taking his sweatpants and going down the hall to the bathroom, changing behind the safety of a closed door. He didn't trust himself to leave the bathroom right away either, for Ace had effectively both pissed him off and aroused him. The healthy bulge in those boxers had certainly drawn Smoker's eyes downwards.

Garp would slaughter him if he found out about the lewd thoughts that sometimes came to the forefront of his mind when Ace was around.

Everything would have been so much easier had Ace been fat and dull-witted. But the boy was bright and had an Adonis body that tempted even the most frigid of people; that he could vouch for. After all, the boy had tempted him, and he was the most reserved and stoic of all the police officers down at the Grand Line Station.

Smoker washed up, using the coldest water the sink's tap could provide, and felt infinitely better. His head clear, he plodded back to his bedroom, ready to use his skills lifting weights to throw the boy over his shoulder and bring him downstairs to the couch where he belonged.

He was determined up until he reached the bed where there was only a lump under the sheets to tell of Ace's presence. Smoker sighed and peeled back the blanket anyway, expecting to be clobbered. What he saw instead was his half-naked tempter curled up almost into the fetal position, snoring away.

And the cute pout that was present in sleep melted whatever ice had been left around Smoker's heart. The man resisted the urge to touch the boy's ebony locks or his cheeks dappled with freckles by replacing the blanket. With Ace covered and the only indication of his manly broad shoulders – which Smoker couldn't help but admire in the privacy of his thoughts – being a lump under the covers, Smoker crawled in beside him.

It was hard to sleep that night. Smoker would be a liar if he said he only touched Ace once, 'accidentally,' during the night.

-oOo-

"What the hell is that?"

"That, my melancholic and smoky friend, is rock 'n' fucking roll!"

"Turn that shit down!"

Ace howled with laughter. "You can't turn rock 'n' roll _down_! It only goes up, up, up!"

Currently, Ace was on the run, followed closely by an enraged Smoker. The object of interest, a boom box that had miraculously appeared in Ace's possession, was spewing a mix tape of rock legends. At full blast. How Ace wasn't fazed by the loud music so close to his ears was a mystery to Smoker who, upon waking to the ruckus, was now sporting a gruesome headache. Smoker chalked it up to the fact that Ace was still a teenager.

It was so loud that his phone was ringing off its hook. The neighbours were, as expected, quite pissed off about the clamour so early in the morning. The first phone call was from an elderly woman, Tsura, who yelled at him and then threatened to 'hang him out to dry.' He could barely hear her, and so hung up before she got out her hand-scrubbing board and washtub and ran across the street to confront him.

He could not escape the wrath of the second caller, however.

"Hina's angry! Hina thinks Smoker was having an all-night party without her!"

"What? I can't hear you, woman!" He could, however, hear Ace's laughter a few decibels above the rolling bass and crashing cymbals.

"Hina is coming over!"

This Smoker did hear. "What? No! No, don't come over, Hina! I don't want you here, woman!"

This Hina did not hear, as she had hung up to make the journey across the street.

Smoker dropped the phone and immediately resumed chasing Ace who held the boom box above his head. The kid was pretty slick, a blur dancing just out of reach every time Smoker got close enough to make a grab for him. He was like a fire, in that way. Evading the water that was attempting to put him out while sucking oxygen from the air to fuel his laughter. And Smoker, well, Smoker was filling the house with smoke by running around with two cigars in his mouth.

It was the perfect set up for the fire alarm to go off. Luckily, Smoker managed to tackle Ace before enough smoke accumulated near the detector.

Ace made a sound not unlike that of a wounded animal as he hit the ground with Smoker on top of him. The boom box that he had been carrying went flying and met its fate at the hands of Smoker's brick fireplace, smashing just enough to silence the harrowing cries of Steven Tyler and the rest of Aerosmith.

The moment that followed was marked by much grunting and groaning. Blindfolded bystanders would've been convinced they were standing on the set of an exotic porno, and as Ace gave a final, defeated moan that shook the rafters, Hina did indeed walk onto the scene with those thoughts in mind.

"Oh my God, Smoker, what the fuck are you doing to that child! Hina thinks this is very inappropriate!"

"Hina, this is not what it looks like and you know it."

Before Hina had arrived on the scene to bicker with her coworker and neighbour, Ace managed to thrash enough to be belly up with Smoker's broad frame covering him. Somehow, trying to escape Smoker's clutches, Ace's legs had raised and spread apart around the older man's hips, giving him the impression of, well, _being the one on the bottom_.

"You're right! He's molesting me."

"Shut the hell up, Ace!"

Now, Hina was no lady to mess around with. She worked alongside Smoker on some of the most dangerous cases the city had to offer, and certainly passed her training with flying colours. Her associates had given her a nickname, and it was known by even the criminals still roaming the streets that it was not wise to mess with Black Cage Hina.

Smoker got the longhaired woman's arms, her iron grip, around his midsection. "Let me go, woman!"

"Get the hell off that child!"

"He's not a child and I'm not molesting him!" Smoker roared.

The fact that Hina had one hell of a strong grasp vexed Smoker. He knew her techniques well, having gone through the policing academy with her constant presence. She had been a model student and he, well, he didn't really want to think of the idiotic things he'd done that had almost gotten him kicked out. They weren't really worth thinking about, especially since whenever he got in trouble it had been Hina who'd bailed him out.

He let Hina forcibly remove him from the delinquent.

Hina threw him onto the couch and immediately began assisting who she thought was the suffering one.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Name's Ace by the way."

Hina looked between Ace and Smoker. "Ace…" she muttered. "You wouldn't by any chance be Garp's grandson?"

"Yeah, that's me."

Smoker was shocked when Hina hit the boy upside the head. Ace made a startled noise and reared back, looking rightfully frazzled.

"Hina knows you're a miscreant!"

"Wha–"

"This is a warning from Hina, mister. Don't be starting any more fires or breaking into any more houses. And you," she turned to Smoker, "Don't you dare abuse him any more than I would. Hina's leaving, you morons."

With that, the storm came to a crashing end with Hina slamming the door on her way out.

"She totally didn't believe you were molesting me," Ace said in disbelief.

Smoker got to his face, his ears pink and his cheeks flushed. "Shut up and get your stuff! We're going to the gym so I have an excuse to punch you in the face." Smoker found a cloth bag he could use and tossed it in Ace's direction. The brat caught it with a quirked eyebrow at the design. It looked like a goddamn watermelon. Obviously this was a grocery bag.

"Damn," Ace muttered, resentfully doing as he was told. He went upstairs and grabbed a change of clothes, stuffing them into the watermelon bag. He paused over his sketchbook and pencils, then decided to tuck them into the bag as well. He never knew when inspiration might hit.

-oOo-

"Can I drive?"

"What makes you think you can drive my car?" Smoker asked. "Do you even have a license, brat?"

"No."

"Then the answer is no, obviously," Smoker said with a roll of his eyes. He was managing fine so far dealing with Ace. Of course, it had only been five minutes since they'd driven out of the driveway, but still. It was a good start.

"Why not?"

"Are you seriously asking a _police officer _why he won't let you drive _without _a license?"

"You're no fun," Ace said with a sigh. "_Garp_ even lets me drive. All the time. Hell, I've been driving his many vehicles since I was six."

Smoker turned to look at him, trying to find the lie in his eyes. They were entirely too truthful. "That man's an idiot."

"Well, yeah. But he taught me to drive. Actually, I'm a very versatile driver. I can drive with my knees or even my elbows."

"I don't doubt that. Now stop talking to me while I'm trying to concentrate on the road," said Smoker, making a point to furrow his brow and stare dead ahead. He heard a sigh from Ace, then some rustling. He refused to acknowledge it with an inquisitive look, but he would ask. "What are you doing now?"

"Nuthin'." Ace continued sifting through the contents in the watermelon bag. He was sure he'd packed it! "I'm looking for my hard drugs…my narcotics."

"Narcotics _aren't _classified as legal in this city!"

Ace laughed. "Naw, I lied when I said they were narcotics. Was just trying to scare you."

Smoker sighed and let his grip on the steering wheel relax, ever so slightly. Ace's laugh had a distinctively pained edge to it, something he'd picked up on as it was starkly different from what he was used to hearing. "So, what do you actually take?" Smoker asked a little softer than necessary.

Ace was busy rooting around in his bag, and when he didn't immediately answer Smoker repeated his question.

"Damn! I can't find my narcoterrific nectar! Ugh, I must have forgotten th– Oh! Here it is."

Smoker sighed and repeated his question once more.

"Provigil. Before that I was on a couple different things, but nothing really worked before Provigil, so whatever. One of the drugs actually had me hallucinating, and that isn't as fun as it sounds. At least with this drug you don't get that weird buzz at the beginning and then that feeling of coming down after. Then I take Effexor on top of that, which is a strong antidepressant. Those combined just make me feel normal for once."

"That must be nice," said Smoker, unsure of what else to say. He watched Ace pop a pill into his mouth and swallow it down without any sort of drink, the sight alluding heavily to the lad's dependency on meds to survive. His heart constricted just a bit in his chest.

"You have no idea," Ace replied, his tone dry and sarcastic. Smoker really didn't have much of an idea of what it was like, and he didn't want to make the mistake of assuming. So he kept quiet after that.

After a few minutes of stopping at red lights and following the roads that would lead to the local gym, Smoker heard some more rustling. This time he looked over and saw that Ace had taken out his pad of paper and was flipping it open. "What are you doing now?"

"Nuthin'. Watch the road Mr. I-Am-A-Responsible-And-Anal-Driver. Wouldn't want to get into an accident, would we?"

Smoker grunted and resumed watching for pokey pedestrians and crazy cyclists. The town was full of stupid people that were prone to running out in front of vehicles. He didn't want to end up in court for someone else's dumb mistake.

When the road was clear for a good distance ahead he stole another look at Ace to find him twisted around in his seat, facing him, with his pad of paper and a pencil. He looked like he was hastily scribbling something, and Smoker didn't have to be a rocket scientist to guess that Ace was scribbling his face.

He could only guess what Ace was drawing _on _his face to supplement his rather average appearance. A handlebar mustache perhaps, and maybe a few more wrinkles and an extra couple of cigars dangling out of his mouth.

"That better not be offensive, or I'll burn it."

"What?" Ace gave him an incredulous look, then grinned. "Oh Smoker, I wouldn't even _dream_ of giving you a makeover."

"Good, that's smart."

Ace clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "However, I was thinking I'd drawing what I think you look like naked. I'll show you after and you can tell me how close I am to the real thing."

"_What_?" Smoker's mind conjured up the perfectly formed Michelangelo penis. Then his mind did something sick and shrunk the penis down and put it on his own body. As that seemed like something Ace would draw, just for kicks.

"I'm kidding, Smoker. Jeez, you get _so _worked up. I'm just going to draw your profile, since you're so damn intent on staring at the asphalt. Honestly, your stillness makes you the perfect subject to study."

Smoker puckered his lips into his usual, perpetual frown and Ace quieted down after that. He listened to the scritch-scratch of the pencil on paper and focused on the road. His curiosity was hitting an all-time high, and he found himself subtly trying to look over the top of Ace's sketchpad, which was propped up against a knee Ace had drawn up to his chest. The boy's back was now fully against the car door, and his dark hair fell in soft curls in front of his eyes. Every once and a while he'd peer out at Smoker from behind his curly curtain and smile like he was hiding a particularly nasty secret.

Smoker tried not to pull over and pounce on the kid, he really did. To distract himself, he tried to strike up another conversation. It was at least another ten minutes to their destination.

"So, you really like to draw, huh?" Smoker asked suddenly.

Ace glanced up at him with a hint of surprise, brushing his hair out of his eyes with a swipe of the back of his hand. "Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, it used to be the only thing I could bring myself to do some days. You have no idea what kind of shit narcoleptics go through."

There was a pause and Smoker could hear pencil lines being scribbled with such haste that he wondered if the final product would even turn out. Then Ace was speaking to him again, and the red light they were stopped at turned green.

"It's hard to drag ourselves out of bed in the morning, and harder still to keep awake. It's also hard to concentrate when you haven't had any sleep…or not enough sleep for your chemically imbalanced brain, anyway. So I like to draw, because it's not something that requires a whole lot of thinking, just a lot of feeling and emotion. And when you have narcolepsy, you have a lot of emotion."

Smoker fell silent, going through three traffic lights before figuring out what to say. "Thanks for sharing that with me. Really, you must find it hard to talk about."

"Yeah, to certain people. But I don't have a problem with you because talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. Nothing seems to faze you and not a whole lot of crap bounces back."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or not," Smoker said. "Whatever, we're almost there." He could see the sign for the gym down the road, and the building was in sight. Ace didn't choose to reply, though his pencil started picking up speed. By the time Smoker entered the parking lot, he thought the frenzied pencil rubbing against the paper was going to start a fire in his car. "Hey, we're here," he said, putting the car in park. The parking lot was mostly deserted this early in the morning. Most of the clientele came an hour later. Only the early, early birds were around. Smoker liked it that way. Less people meant less useless social interaction.

"Hey, Ace. Let's go."

"One sec. The bridge of your nose looks like it's a part of the car."

Smoker frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "Let me see," he said before he could wonder whether or not he truly did want to see the kid's work. Michelangelo's impressive penis was once again back to haunt him.

"I said _one sec_."

"I think it's been one sec."

"Keep your pink panties on, Officer."

Smoker huffed and struck out at his car door handle, ripping it open and preparing to get out. He got halfway off the seat when Ace tugged him back.

"Here. Look at your beautiful face. I _think_ it's possible for more than your mother to love _that_."

It might have been rushed, but its likeness to Smoker was remarkable. Smoker had never been the subject of a drawing before, and to see his representation in pencil on a piece of paper baffled him for a minute. He stared, examining the details that had been hastily scribbled in like the stubble on his jaw and the nearly invisible scar under his one eye, until Ace yanked it out from under his nose.

"Okay, let's go!"

"H-hey, I was still looking at that," Smoker stuttered, making a grab for the sketchbook. Ace seemed a bit surprised and angled it so that Smoker could see it once more. "That kinda does look like me. Only I don't think I look _that _angry." He scrutinized it further, especially the hard and unforgiving lines around his mouth, and mistakenly made a grab for the pad in a subconscious effort to bring it closer to his eyes. Ace swatted his hands away before they even made contact with the actual paper, and Smoker realized that Ace was likely very protective of his belongings, especially those that showcased his talent and what went on in his head.

Thoughts of how carelessly he'd flipped through the sketchbook's pages before flooded his mind and he found himself flinching. He had certainly invaded someone's privacy, and the fact that he was just realizing it now made matters worse.

"Sorry," he said lightly, drawing back. "I'm impressed, though. That's a really good drawing."

"Wow, I managed to impress the big, bad cop?" Ace snickered, folding the cover of his sketchbook over and tucking it into the watermelon bag. "I'm in shock. But I have to say _I'm_ not impressed with my work, but I guess that can be attributed to the speed I did the drawing at. If I had more time to do you properly, it would be better."

_Do you properly_. Smoker groaned and shut his eyes. What an impossibly sexy choice of words, and the rather innocent kid was in complete oblivion to what he'd uttered. Or so Smoker firmly believed. He refused to think the kid was baiting him with the shrewdest of gestures. For that would be absurd.

With a deep breath rocketing out of his nostrils, Smoker got out of the car and steeled himself for the workout ahead. Ace was already making him sweat.

* * *

**A.N.:** Thank for bearing with me and for all the nice reviews! I'm glad this story is tickling some funny bones and, as always, the sexual tension is amusing most of you. A little preview for the next chapter: Gym showers. Yep, it's inevitable. Hopefully it won't be a long wait…


	3. Short Showers

**...**

* * *

**Bound by Obligation**

_3: Short Showers_

* * *

"What the hell kind of a gym is this?" Ace asked as soon as they entered into the lobby. Looking around, all he could see were older men, none of which looked particularly friendly by his standards. "Is this where all the old guys go train to keep young'uns off their lawns or what? I mean, I'm expecting to see a gnome collection any time now."

"I swear you're going to get hurt when we get to the boxing part of the gym."

"Aw, Smokey, you can't hurt me! I'm too darn hot to be given a black eye. And according to _Hina_, quite childish. So if you hit me it's gonna look like–"

"Shut up, Ace," Smoker growled, stopping himself before he could throw the first punch. He'd wait. See if Ace smartened up and stopped being irritating.

Who was he kidding? The brat was not going to change anytime soon.

Speaking of changing… "The locker room's over there. Hurry up."

Ace grumbled something incoherent and likely insulting under his breath, following Smoker's lead. The locker room smelt strongly of both body odour and antiperspirants. Ace turned to leave and Smoker grabbed him by the arm before he could put a foot in the opposite direction. "Change fast," he advised.

Ace didn't even want to open his mouth, just in case he retched. So he nodded and did the fastest strip Smoker had ever seen.

And yes, Smoker did watch. Simply because, he convinced himself, he didn't want Ace to make a break for it. Not because Ace was an attractive little motherfucker. Oh, no, that was not a factor. Not at all.

Ace was finished by the time Smoker put his duffel bag down and got started.

Being done early allowed Ace time to scope out the place. Nobody was in there with them (likely for good reason) and Ace could see the door leading into the main gym was on the other side of the expansive, locker-filled room painted in putrid yellows and red that was all but chipped off the wall.

He turned back to see Smoker's broad back and a bizarrely shaped scar caught his eye. Before it disappeared under a swath of fabric, he poked it as gently as he could manage. "What happened to you here?" he asked, genuinely curious. He knew already, of course. How could one not realize, with a scar like that?

"Got shot on the job, that's what."

"What's it like?" Ace asked quietly, only slightly worried he was broaching a bad topic. The way Smoker answered all of his questions with a peculiar degree of frankness was just inviting discussion. It also broke down any and all inhibitions Ace had – he felt he could just ask away without worrying about offending Smoker too badly.

"Getting shot? Well, if you keep breaking into people's houses and starting fires, you might just find out."

Ace huffed and a hot flash rippled over his tanned skin. In a second he was sweaty, and a few seconds after that he was feeling mighty clammy as he calmed back down. "Whatever."

"It felt like getting ripped in half, kid. It's nothing like in the movies where the good guy gets back up. I thought I'd died," he admitted softly. "Couple blood transfusions later and I woke up in Hell."

Ace stood stupidly next to Smoker, staring at him while he stared at the insides of the locker he'd chosen. At the first hint of tame sociability Ace wanted to embrace the man, for some strange reason. Yet he couldn't, having stood in shock for as long as he did. He felt he should have, but the chance passed him by and to move now would be awkward.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking about something like that," he said instead. "You just answer things so brusquely it just kind of came out–"

"It doesn't matter. Now come on, I've been looking forward to wiping the floor with your mangled body ever since you ran away on me." Smoker offered him the tiniest of smiles and, being selfish, Ace took it. He grinned back.

"Don't think so, old fart."

Ace darted forward before Smoker could punch him, heading for the door to the gym. Once he was through, he stopped in his tracks. There was hardly a soul in sight, save for the two guys on stationary bikes, peddling rather leisurely in such a setting.

"Smokey, we went too damn early." Ace lowered his voice to mutter under his breath, "Apart from you there's a lack of hot guys here."

"What did you say? Did I just hear a goddamn _complaint_? I hate complainers."

Ace chuckled and turned around to counter whatever attack Smoker might throw at him only to find he kind of wanted to tell Smoker just what he had muttered under his breath. The guy was smoking, and for once not literally. The white muscle shirt he had on was a good size too small, likely accidentally shrunken down in the wash, and Ace just couldn't help but admire the physique of the man.

He'd have to see if he could draw Smoker again later, just because this body was too nice not to sketch.

"Brat, let's go already. Pick up those boxing gloves."

Ace grabbed a pair that looked well-worn from a heap on the ground while Smoker selected his from a rack and squeezed his beefy hands into them. Ace followed suit and soon found himself squaring off against a law enforcement officer.

It wasn't exactly the first time, but with Smoker it felt rather special.

Smoker watched the boy's face, noting a peculiar expression he was wearing. Too late he realized it had been Ace searching his body for an opening in his line of defense.

He was privy to the stinging shame of being the first to be hit.

To save face, he immediately went over the level he had decided would be appropriate for fighting an almost-minor, and gave Ace a hook that may have broken his jaw.

Had Ace not dodged his fist and retaliated with a kick.

Smoker's thigh took it well. Still, he was genuinely surprised. It showed clearly on his face because Ace laughed.

"I've taken kick boxing classes in the past," he divulged with a twinkle in his eye. The information did not cause Smoker to grimace; rather he chuckled. It would be fun. He could fight someone who actually knew two cents about fighting.

The prospect was exciting.

Forty minutes of sparring later, they were breathing hard but still at it. Ace managed to huff out, "You're pretty decent for an old police guy and all."

"What, are you surprised by my endurance?" Smoker panted back.

"Oh yeah. I thought for sure those cigars would have done a number on you and your endurance. Not to mention your sex life."

"What about my sex life?" Smoker growled. Now the kid was venturing into dangerous territory. Quickly Smoker delivered a punch to the kid's stomach, knocking him back a couple feet with a sputter. Perhaps that would shut him up…

Ace coughed and blinked away beads of sweat that were racing down his face. If he'd known fighting a chain smoker would be this tricky, he'd have brought a bandana or a sweatband. He stared at Smoker with a level gaze, his guard up, and found the man was bristling with tense energy. Ace smirked and Smoker just knew he was going to say something to try and aggravate him into losing his control.

"So, out of manly curiosity, who was the last chick you slept with?" Ace decided to ask. He saw shoulders stiffen and lock. "I'm going to put ten bucks on that Tashigi chick. I overheard that she works under you. She tried to arrest me once. That could have been a kinky situation, but I'm glad she was more concerned about finding her glasses when they got knocked off her pretty face."

"I did not sleep with a colleague."

Ace shrugged, adjusting his boxing gloves in the momentary reprieve. "Whatever. I would've. She's hot."

Smoker's nostrils flared. The kid was so damn _stupid_! He knew Ace was just trying to get under his skin, but bringing his underling into the conversation just struck a nerve. Tashigi was like a _little sister _to him, in a weird and entirely _normal _way.

He lashed out against that smile, cleanly bopping the brat's bigheaded attitude back along with his nose.

"_Fuck_!"

"Aw, shit," Smoker muttered when he saw the blood he'd drawn. Ace was already pawing at his nose and cursing under his breath.

This was awkward.

He grabbed a hand towel that he'd brought to the ring for wiping away sweat and passed it to Ace, who stuffed it under his nose with a blistering glower in Smoker's direction.

"Is it broken?" Smoker asked, the tiniest amount of fear gripping him. He did not want to have to take the kid to a hospital to get his nose set back into place. He could only imagine having to explain to a nurse or the person behind the emergency services desk that _he'd_ punched an eighteen-year-old's nose and it now needed to be set and put into a cast, or whatever.

Ace said something angrily, the towel muffling his speech.

"Is it broken?" Smoker repeated.

"I said it's not fucking broken, you fucking idiot! If it were broken I'd be slaughtering you! _Fuck_."

Smoker remained quiet at the outburst, his eyes darting around the room at the astonished and mostly wrinkled faces. With a grimace, he realized it would probably be wise to switch gyms before someone figured out who he was and what he did for a living.

He did not want this to get back to Garp. Luckily, Ace stalked off towards the change rooms, with Smoker on his heels. Once they were out of sight, Smoker relaxed. It was still early for those who visited the gym to work out, and the locker room was as devoid of people as ever.

Ace plopped himself down on a bench, his back hunched. Between his shoulder blades sweat had gathered, forming a dark triangle and making the fabric of his shirt cling to his broad back. Smoker felt a pang down south and adverted his eyes. With his eyes away from the scene, he was able to articulate his words clearly.

"We should get it checked out at the hospital right away. Come on."

Ace removed the towel from his face to look Smoker in the eye. "No."

"Just in case."

"No. I'm fine, _thanks_. I've had far worse. In comparison, you hit like a freakin' sissy."

Smoker grunted, but the sight of the bright red blood on the grey towel kept him from raising his fist against the kid again. It wasn't worth it to mar Ace's beautiful face even more.

He _did_ just think that. Fleetingly.

Groaning at his dirty mind, which was rapidly envisioning this sweaty and panting Ace bent over the bench playing the receiver, Smoker began to change. There was no way in hell he was going back out there to be scrutinized by old men on stationary bikes just to get his usual workout. Besides, he was already sweating. His shirt was soaked with perspiration.

He peeled it from his back and stuffed it into his duffel bag to be washed later. He was going for his track pants next when he noticed a pair of eyes intently upon him.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I should not have tried to break your face."

"Did I ask for your goddamn apology?"

"So why are you staring?" Ace directed his eyes to a new object of interest, his bloody towel. He turned it over in his hands with a sneer of disgust. Smoker noted that his nose had already stopped bleeding. Whatever damage he'd done, Ace seemed to be through the worst of it. His statuesque nose still looked cute as a frickin' button.

Smoker sighed and looked to the showers. He hadn't had one this morning and now, sweaty and sticky and just feeling damn awful, he wondered if he ought to wash up. He had his shampoo on him and everything. Still, he figured Ace would want to leave right away, if only to retire to Smoker's bedroom with the door closed to sulk in private.

"I have a weak nose because I got it broken a few times. Trust me, I know when it's smashed." Smoker looked at him with renewed interest, now searching the area around his nose for signs of previous breakage. While he was doing this, the young man decided his next course of action and Smoker felt he could get away with staring. He watched as Ace stripped out of his clothes until he was only in a pair of briefs. "I'm showering."

"Me, too."

He realized too late that he'd automatically volunteered to stand right next to Ace, in the nude, in the gym's 'open concept' showers.

His nether regions were twitching with anticipation. Ace was already off and Smoker felt compelled to follow after he'd raised his voice. He couldn't just back out after he'd blatantly stated his intention. Ace would _surely_ get weird about it. They were just two men. He'd think Smoker odd to make a big deal out of it.

So he followed, willing his penis to stop dancing a jig in his shorts.

By the time he ambled over to the shower area, his heart racing and a new type of sweat forming in all the usual places, Ace was bent over, bringing his briefs to the ground.

Now that was an ass. And it was sticking straight up in the air, just begging for action.

He wished he could slap himself without drawing attention to himself.

"Yo, how the hell do these showers work? They're fucking ancient. Nasty, too."

Smoker stripped in an instant, ignoring the heaviness that had settled at the base of his cock. He knew this was going to be a hard one to fight.

Before Ace turned around and took a brief glance down below, he went up behind the boy fiddling with the knob and turned the shower on full blast by yanking the knob outwards.

"Gah! Fuckin' freezing! Shit, shit, shit!"

Smoker turned on his own shower. He needed the cold more than Ace. The kid was scrambling to adjust the temperature and swearing like a drunk pirate while Smoker stood under the spray, the frigid water calming his nerves by numbing them. He couldn't relax though. Not with the drenched brat clawing away at the shower knob, turning it all the way to the left so it spewed out a flow of scorching hot water. Smoker expected a scream, but instead Ace let out an inaudible sigh with his mouth slightly parted. Complete bliss.

His hair was plastered to his head, and it was certainly down to his shoulders when wet and straight. Smoker forced his eyes away and focused on applying soap to his body. This would be a quick run. He could probably do it in five minutes. Get in, get out. Like a good raid on a drug house.

He shouldn't have even hoped.

"Hey, gimme that shampoo."

"What, you didn't bring your own?" Smoker asked roughly, staring at the tiled wall in front of him. He would not, under any circumstances, look over now. He heard Ace snort in that boyish way of his that was almost akin to scoffing. Without another word he squirted some shampoo into his hand and passed the bottle over, tapping it against Ace's bicep. Again, he reinforced the idea in his brain not to so much as glance to the left, and _especially_ not downwards.

Ace snatched the bottle from his hands and Smoker went back to his plan of finishing in five minutes. In a minute his hair was washed. A minute after that his chest and arms. Then he grabbed his bottle of conditioner, which helped give his grey hair a bit more life.

"What's that?" asked Ace all of a sudden.

Smoker assumed he meant the bottle in his hand. He did not look over, but did acknowledge Ace's inquiry. "Conditioner."

"Ah. I see. So you can condition whatever locks of grey hair ya got left."

"Shut the hell up. I have thick hair and it's not going anywhere anytime soon. My grandfather had hair till he was ninety."

"Don't mean a thing. I got a friend – Marco's his name – who's going bald on the sides of his head, and it's weird as fuck. Funny though, cause everyone else in his family's got a helluva lot a hair."

Smoker was silent again. He heard nothing more from Ace. He was almost done, almost home free, when the brat invaded his personal bubble. He knocked against Smoker's chest, reaching for the conditioner Smoker had thrown on a nearby wire shelf. The sensation of wet skin on wet skin tickled his numbed nerves and instantly warmed them. He received a toothy grin as Ace seized his conditioner bottle and took it back under his spray, once again brushing up against him.

"Does this smell like roses or something?" he asked with a chuckle. Smoker didn't reply. What was the point? But he finally did look over, and that was his mistake. His eyes automatically snapped downwards between Ace's thighs.

His didn't expect the view he got. Ace's cock was out in the open, not limp and in hiding. He couldn't take his eyes away. Not until Ace made a clicking noise with his tongue.

"So, you're gay."

With a jolt, Smoker leveled his gaze with Ace and saw the tiny, entirely too confident smirk he wore. The harsh movement made him aware of a feeling in his groin. He dared to look down past his pectorals. Something was eagerly protruding from his otherwise clear-cut visage.

He had lost the battle so quickly he hadn't even realized it.

Smoker didn't bother trying to cover his own erection. Ace didn't. So neither would he. He would play it cool. Write it off as an effect of the cold water washing down his body. "What gave you that impression?"

"Oh, _nothing_ in particular." Smoker couldn't tell if the brat was serious or screwing with him. He grunted and shook his head. It was time to flee before–

"I'm pansexual," Ace said suddenly, capturing Smoker's devout attention once more. "I don't have much in the way of 'preferences'. I do think men are more desirable than busty girls, though."

Despite all of the water coursing down his body, Smoker found his throat was dry.

"You owe me for nearly breaking my nose," Ace said, his voice light and fluid like the water dripping down his body. Smoker remained silent, his fingernails digging into his palm as he tried to calm down through the use of pain. It wasn't working well.

"I like older men. They're not as fussy and they usually got experience. I also find boys are too soft. Can't get into older gals easily either."

"You don't sound very pansexual to me," Smoker said at last, his vocal chords nearly at the point of becoming constricted.

"Maybe I'm not. Who cares? But you owe me."

In a matter of seconds Ace was in his personal space, literally and figuratively turning up the heat. The goose bumps doting Smoker's arms were already receding with the new temperature of the water. Ace's decided temperature.

He locked eyes with his tempter.

The bottle of conditioner was still in Ace's hand, but a glance at his other raised hand had Smoker fixated. The young man had not used the conditioner on his hair. Instead, the hand with a gob of conditioner in it was travelling south…

He stared blatantly as Ace began to jack off, slick sounds overpowering the pitter-patter of the water. This was not happening. Not to him.

Except for a haggard breath, Smoker remained silent. With teeth biting the bottom of his lip, Ace moved in, pressing his chest to Smoker's. Something bumped against Smoker down below, and he drew in a sharp breath of hot air when he realized what it was that knocked up against him.

"You owe me," Ace whispered again, pressing his wet, freckled cheek against Smoker's neck. He slung an arm up and around Smoker's shoulders. Where his other hand was, Smoker found out soon enough.

He groaned as Ace grasped him and gave a sharp squeeze. Strong fingers began to pull and push at him, the friction uncomfortably rough. Then it got better as the conditioner in Ace's palm spread and coated him. His lower half began to tremble, and all inhibition flew away because for once he didn't care if Ace knew his weakness. He didn't care if Ace knew how bad he was shaking and how tight his chest had gotten all of a sudden. It was, quite literally, his wet dream playing out in front of his eyes.

Sinewy fingers were dancing all over his back. One hand lightly scratched while the other pumped him. Ace was letting out tiny chuckles that sounded more like groans in his ear.

For a moment, Ace's fingers left his erection, then he felt something unbelievably stiff push up against him, and the fingers returned. Only now just a little more than the tips were touching him. Ace's fingers weren't long enough for the thickness of them combined.

He felt Ace try to compensate, to move so he cradled Smoker, his hand between the man's chest and his cock. Then he began to thrust, rubbing not just his dick but his entire body against the older man. Smoker groaned as the sensation betrothed his full attention, his mind going blank to thoughts of getting caught and how wrong it was to engage in this sort of behavior with his boss's grandson. All his mind was thinking of was ways he could make this even better.

He reached around and cupped one of Ace's butt cheeks, riding the motion of his hips as they swiveled up and down. A few thrusts more eager than the last and Smoker was gripping that toned ass, feeling both its hardness and softness in his palm. His mind still raced with naughty thoughts while Ace struggled to please them both.

He pushed Ace away against the tile wall of the shower. Worry and offense swam in Ace's eyes, partially obscured by the falling water, and Smoker turned the shower off with a flick of his wrist. The other shower followed suit. Now he could see Ace in all his glory, his body dripping and heaving fatigued pants. The teenager began to edge away, the slightest hint of shame and irritation bending his brow, and Smoker's hands reapplied to his abdomen stopped his escape.

"Where do you think you're going?" grunted Smoker. With a surprised groan, Ace looked down to find that Smoker had taken them both in his hand. He could hold them comfortably. The beginnings of a hesitant smile curved Ace's mouth, his lips parting when Smoker clenched his fist and began to work them over once again.

"You're so gay," Ace said loudly as Smoker pressed against him and the warm tiles pushed indents into his back. He was remarkably quick to get his confidence back. "You're gay and I fucking knew it. This whole time. You were staring at me."

"Shut up."

The kid talked too much, Smoker decided, grunting as he thrust harder. The increased friction cut the words from Ace's tongue and replaced them with rich moans. Smoker had never heard a man moan before. Then again, he hadn't had that many men in his lifetime, and certainly none as young as Ace.

He found it hard to move his hand when Ace began to press back against him, molding their skin together wherever it was possible. He felt a wet tongue on his jaw, then lips that kissed and worked his stubble, and wondered if Ace wanted to taste his lips. But Ace never ventured there, and in a minute more he felt Ace's body tense against him and his fingers dig into his shoulders.

The notion that he'd gotten another man off made Smoker come before Ace, but only by a few seconds.

He didn't know what belonged to Ace and what belonged to him. They were sticky and dirtied once again, and Ace wouldn't stop making soft noises that brought pangs of desire back into Smoker's tense balls.

He turned on the shower and washed the evidence of their act away. It didn't take long for the both of them to recover their breath, and when Smoker was sure Ace was going to speak and ruin his high, he clamped a hand over the young man's mouth, squeezed it, and released. Ace got the idea and remained silent, adverting his eyes.

When they were clean, Smoker removed his hand and found Ace rather emotionless. Then the boy cracked a strange smile Smoker had never seen on him before, pushing past Smoker to get to the rack of towels.

They didn't speak while getting dressed, and after a while Smoker couldn't even bring himself to look at the man who'd tempted him into an illicit exploit in a public space.

Ace grabbed his ass, gave it a squeeze, and made his exit before Smoker was quite ready to go.

* * *

**A.N.:** I'm on a roll. Just updated _A Dance for Two _and now this? :D

Well, this story just couldn't stay cute and innocent for long now, could it? No, not when I'm the one writing it. It only gets naughtier from here. Next chapter: Ice cream is found in Smoker's household…


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